Beck enters and ushers us to the dance-party church that was Red Rocks tonight. He cries out to the masses, “Dearly beloved we are gathered here this evening....Can we get together on the mountaintop tonight and get higher?”

Indeed we can.

If Andy Warhol and Prince has a baby he’d feel a lot like Beck. He lasso’s, shimmies, Mick Jagger’s across the stage and leads a stellar band of players in a show that feels well-worn and effervescent all at once. He is a splendid storm of melodious energy, clad in a motorcycle jacket with floppy blonde hair tamed by an (Isaac-the-Prophet, ala Children of the Corn style) black brimmed hat. I fell in love with everyone on the stage tonight. Please deliver me on a ride of syncopated jumping, falsetto cries and robo-voice authoritative assurances. “Who cares if it’s a Tuesday night?”

Jenny Lewis started the show floating in as Rainbow Bright incarnate, in hot pink fringe and sequins making me feel like everything was going to be alright.

The depths of her lyrics dancing off the glowing, copper hills enveloped me and I forgot my cares for a while. Her voice soars and swims, warm as the pillows of a comfy Sunday bed. But for me just now, I’ll keep my head under water in a way that feels so right. It could be auspicious place, the autumn of the air, a rush of color and life oozing from the stage but “there’s a little bit of magic...everybody has it” at least for tonight.